


Quoth

by some_fantastic



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, NEVERMORE, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_fantastic/pseuds/some_fantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You, my bright-eyed friend, are going to be my raven."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quoth

**Author's Note:**

> AU (maybe). Joe has friends everywhere.

Curiosity killed the cat. That's what his mother would have said. But Mike had never been able to shake it once he sunk his teeth into something good. He was too curious, too intent to find out the truth. And this, well, this was the biggest mystery of them all. So really, he had to go to the prison. He had to take off his shoes, jacket, belt. He had to empty his wallet into a tray, and clear out his pockets (why did he carry around so much crap anyway?). Mike knew he could pass it off as research. This would be the final thing, the one that pushed his thesis above all his classmates'. Actual words from the actual murderer himself. So really, applying for visitation was simple.

Actually getting there, now that took work. Mike spent a lot of time preparing mentally. He was going to come face to face with a serial killer. The man had brutally murdered fourteen college girls. He was on _death row_. This was terrifying enough in its own right. But Mike wanted to. He wanted to go the extra mile, wanted to impress his superiors, wanted to _know_. So he went to the prison, he stripped himself of anything potentially dangerous, and then he found himself sitting in front of a glass divider with an empty chair on the other side.

His heart actually froze for a moment when Joe Carroll walked out.

He looked like all the pictures from the news. Smiling, charming, British. The orange jumpsuit was a step down from sweater-vests and pressed khakis, but somehow Mike could still sense the authority. And then Actual Joe Carroll actually sat down in front of him, and leaned on the counter in front of the glass. They stared at each other for a long time. Maybe hours. Mike wasn't sure. And finally, Carroll spoke to him.

"I have to say, I was surprised to hear I was getting a visit from you. Of course, we haven't met before. Most of my visits have been of a much more...personal nature." Joe tilted his head, and looked at the boy across from him. He hadn't gone to the university, no. Maybe he was just another junkie, high on legends and internet stories. Joe didn't want to waste his time on children like that, but he wouldn't object to leaving his cell when the opportunity presented itself. Maybe this wouldn't be a fruitless visit. "I don't believe I was given your name."

"M-Mike Weston. I'm doing a thesis..."

"About me? I'm flattered." Carroll smiled, and Mike felt a chill run down his spine. He found himself unable to do anything other than sit there. Stare. This was the man everyone had been afraid of. Of course, he looked a lot more dangerous in an orange jumpsuit. Civilian mentality. Joe Carroll was just another man, no matter how dangerous. He wasn't a god, wasn't a monster. Just a deeply disturbed man. The thought calmed him down a little, but not much. "And I'm sure you know who I am."

"You're Joe Carroll. The whole country knows who you are." Carroll nodded, a strange look in his eyes. Mike wasn't sure what that meant. He should have planned this better. Maybe then he wouldn't be stuck staring like an idiot with his mouth open.

"Did you just come here to gawk at me? By all means, take your fill." Mike blinked, shut his mouth, gulped. Joe watched his Adam's apple bob, a slight smirk on his face. He was pretty, innocent. Best of all, he looked scared. People showed so much when they were afraid. Some cried. Some would scream, beg for their life. Others, they'd just stay quiet. But their eyes never lied. Fear was a universal constant, one that he knew well. Joe knew how to control it, how to make it his friend. He knew how to make others afraid, and that was where he drew his strength.

Mike knew Carroll was just trying to scare him. That was what he did. And fuck him if it wasn't working. Mike could feel the hint of nervousness. His heart beat a little faster. He felt warmer, uncomfortable. Shoes were too tight. Shirt sticking to his skin. Was he blinking too much? Should he even be staring? Why was Carroll just sitting there? Could he tell?

Joe sat back in his chair, watching the kid eat himself alive. It was rather amusing, the effect he had on people. Most were scared of him. Some, like Ryan, were angry. But fear always tasted better. And this boy, well, he was certainly wonderful. If he chose to follow, he would fit in nicely. Joe already had a plan, see. He was looking for someone with a special set of skills. The younger ones were always more in touch with the world. More corruptible as well, but that was neither here nor there. He simply waited for the boy to compose himself.

"You don't scare me," Mike said, just a hint of challenge in his voice. So the boy did have a little fight left in him. Joe rested his forearms on the small table, hands clasped in front of him. He smiled dangerously.

"Is that so?" That was a challenge of his own. The boy passed, but barely. He held his gaze, not looking away until Joe finally blinked and released him. "Would you like to be my friend, Mike?" Joe smiled, leaned forwards. "I would like to be your friend. Can we be friends, Mike?" This was a bad idea. Mike _knew_ that. He knew what Carroll was capable of, what he had done. He had murdered fourteen girls in cold blood, had cut out their eyes. But he didn't move. He didn't stop talking to him, didn't do anything. Carroll just watched him, let him take his time.

"I didn't think serial killers had friends."

"Everybody has friends, Mike. You don't have to say yes. You can go back to your apartment, and forget all about me." Joe paused long enough to let it sink in. He could tell by the light in the boy's eyes that he was interested. "But I think you would rather stay, and hear what I have to say." It wasn't supposed to go like this at all. He should leave. Fuck his thesis. He could do without a quote.

Mike stayed. Joe explained everything to him.

_You won't be like my other friends, Mike. You are special. You won't know who my other friends are. They won't know you, either. But don't think that makes you any less important. You are the one who will deliver my messages. You might even make your own messages. You, my bright-eyed friend, are going to be my raven._

His name was simple. An homage, really. It wasn't Joe's favourite poem, but it had always held a special place in his heart. Joe's friends needed a guide. They needed someone to organize, to keep track. He was a messenger; not just for friends, but for anyone else who wanted to take the journey. And what better name for a messenger, than the message that had been delivered so many times before?

As the raven said, NEVERMORE.

From then on, he wasn't just Mike Weston. He had another name. Nobody knew who NEVERMORE really was, although some tried to find out his real identity. Some were getting close. But it was all part of the plan. Things would come together. People would die. Others, well, maybe they might just find themselves. He wasn't the one pulling the strings, but he was far from a puppet. He had a job to do.

So later, when he handed the list of visitors over, he made sure to remove exactly one name. That was his job, after all. Stay hidden. Stay unseen. Nobody could know who he was, or what he did. Not even any of Joe's other friends. He was just another piece in the larger scheme of things. A piece they didn't have to investigate. As far as everyone else was concerned, Michael Weston had never been to prison. It was better that way.

He should have done something more. That girl, Annabel Lee, she did not deserve to die. Mike hadn't even been entirely sure that this girl was the one. But she had stood, dropped her dress, and then he knew. This was the woman he had warned. The one he didn't have a name for. She died in pain, most likely, and fear. Mike felt guilty about that, felt like he hadn't done enough to save her. She should have listened to him. She shouldn't have talked to Joe. He wasn't for everybody. Some friends would die. That was natural. But this girl...she had been innocent. More a victim than a killer.

Mike Weston wasn't allowed to feel sorry for her. He was an FBI agent. This was another victim. Others were on the list. Murderers needed to be caught. Later. when he made it home, he allowed himself to feel remorse. His other personality was allowed to do that. Agent Mike Weston was just a face. NEVERMORE was the real him. And he had work to do. Information to find.

It was late one night, when he finally pulled out the microphone and started up the recording software. Sarah Fuller was dead. Joe Carroll had escaped, been arrested. Joey Matthews was missing. As for Mike? Well, he had work to do. It was time for NEVERMORE to speak again.


End file.
